


Turn, Turn, Turn

by kscribbles



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Swearing, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kscribbles/pseuds/kscribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: I find myself craving a whole fic where Charley and Peter are turned into vampires - I picture this as either they're both turned at the same time, or Charley is turned first, but please no Peter turning Charley 'cause that's just too sad. Something about the thought of them living forever, bitching affectionately at each other and fucking at every oppourtunity just kills me. It's so <i>sweet</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn, Turn, Turn

**Author's Note:**

> I miss writing Fright Night fic. It was time to give it another go. Inspired partially by these two drabbles: [Love Bites](http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html?thread=367822#t367822) and [Bound to Happen Eventually](http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html?thread=402638#t402638) (I wrote the latter). Written for the lj community FrightNight2011's kinkmeme: http://frightnight2011.livejournal.com/718.html

“What is it?” Peter asks, throwing down his gear as he steps off the lift into the penthouse, but Charley doesn't follow. Peter's tired from their last hard-won battle, and he just wants to shower and sleep. “Did we forget something downstairs?”

Charley looks stricken as he presses the button that will hold the doors open and shakes his head. “I don't... think I can.”

“Don't think you can what?”

Charley doesn't answer. 

And then it slowly becomes clear. Charley can't come in because he hasn't been _invited_. 

“No!” Peter whispers, horrified.

“I thought it was just a scratch.” Charley's voice is small, disbelieving. He drops his stuff on the floor of the lift and pulls the collar of his filthy jacket away from his skin. Sure enough, blood has dried over distinct puncture marks. “I swear, I didn't know. The fight, the adrenaline, the chaos—”

“Charley, that vampire is DEAD. There's no saving you!” Peter feels his blood run cold.

“I know,” Charley says, and his eyes aren't the only ones that are moist. “I'm sorry.”

Charley waits only a second before he bends and rummages through his bag, tosses what he finds through the threshold. Peter reflexively catches the stake. He makes a sound of disgust and tosses it to the floor with a clatter. “Fuck you. I'm not doing that.”

“Peter, you have to. I... killed my best friend once...”

“No.” There must be another way.

They stare at each other silently, realizing one of their worst nightmares. How long do they have before Charley _becomes_ the nightmare?

He won't. Peter decides then and there that he won't LET his best friend become a monster, and Charley _sees_ him make the decision. Charley could always read him like a book. 

“NO!” Charley yells, backing up against the far wall of the lift. “Look, I'll just go, I'll get way the fuck out of town, I'll—”

“Shut up,” Peter says, letting his instinct guide him. He reaches in, grabs Charley by the arm.... “And get in here.” Peter hauls the—god he can barely think it—newborn vampire through the doors and into his house.

“This is crazy, Peter. I could kill you.”

“No, we don't know that,” Peter insists. “She was a different species.” Because they've encountered more than one vamp who didn't want any trouble. Who ran when it saw them coming. They're still sorting through the facts, learning more with each hunt, each kill—comparing books to the real thing—and ALL sorts tramp through Vegas. “Not all vampires are like Jerry,” Peter says, furiously thinking. “Some are tribal, some are loners. Some nest in the earth, some sleep in coffins, some prefer the blood of—”

“Yeah, and some sparkle in the sun,” Charley says sarcastically, because that at least they know is fiction. “We killed her because she was a killer, Peter.”

“Maybe she _chose_ to be.”

“Peter...” Charley says, and he sounds so tired. “I don't want to hurt anybody. Pick up the stake.”

Peter shakes his head. “If you come at me, I'll use it. Not before.”

“When I come at you,” Charley points out, “I'll kill you.” It isn't a threat; Charley believes it’s a forgone conclusion. Peter won’t let it be.

“Give me some credit, Charley. I can hold my own.”

“You just invited a vampire into your house.” 

Peter shudders, hearing Charley so quickly accept what he is. What he's becoming, at least. Peter is steadfast, though. Charley still looks like... Charley. That soul behind those big blue eyes, it'd take more than a vampire bite to shake it loose. “Do you _want_ to kill me? Drain my blood? Slaughter some innocents?”

Charley's brow furrows like it does when he's considering, thinking hard. “No...” he says slowly, “I don't think so. I'm... still me.”

“How _do_ you feel?”

“Just... really fucking tired.”

“No wonder. It's nearly dawn.” Just saying the words, hearing the logic in them, are like a knife to Peter’s heart, but he shoves his pain aside. It's business mode now, and he’s relieved to have something to do aside from debating murder. Taking care of shit—of people—it's a side of him he didn't know existed until he met Charley. “Come on. Let's get you cleaned up and into bed.”

Charley looks confused, but lets himself be led towards to shower. “I'm a monster, not a child, Peter.”

“You're neither. Stop arguing and get your kit off.” Peter turns on the taps and begins removing his own dirty things.

After a moment, Charley obeys. Peter gasps softly when he sees that the skin revealed is already paling.

 

Afterwards, Peter settles a heavy-limbed and unresisting Charley into bed before double checking his bedroom curtains. No light that can hurt Charley will get through, of that he makes very sure.

Charley shifts in bed, restlessly, mumbling something, and Peter returns to his side.

“Don't sleep...” 

Peter hadn't planned on it. There's enough adrenaline in his system now to keep him up for days.

“Don't sleep...” Charley repeats, “...here.”

Peter can't suppress another shudder. “Don't worry. I'll keep watch. You just sleep. We'll figure this out tomorrow.”

Charley is unnaturally still before he finishes the sentence. Peter gets the nearly uncontrollable urge to lean down, brush a kiss against Charley's forehead, in case this is really goodbye. He doesn't do it. He doesn't know much about sleeping vampires after all. Instead he backs away, silently grabbing the shotgun resting against the bed.

He'll sit in the chair across the room, he'll keep watch. He'll do that for Charley. And Peter will do what he has to, if, like he said earlier, the time comes. He just has to get them through this first night… well, day… just has to…

He blinks and the room is a fraction darker, which doesn't make sense. The sun is rising, not— 

_Fuck_. 

What has he done?

The crick in his neck and the gun fallen to the floor are his answer. He hasn't kept watch at all, he fell asleep. Slept the whole damned day away! And the bed opposite him is rumpled, but very, very empty.

Panicking, he shoots to his feet, ignoring his protesting muscles, and grabs his gun. Heart pounding in his ears, he checks the clock and it’s two hours after sunset. There is no sign of Charley in the bedroom, or in the loo, or, he soon finds out, in the kitchen or living room either. He stops briefly by the bar and pours himself a drink—force of habit—but doesn’t drink it. As much as he wants to get drunk right now, he needs a clear head. 

Carefully laying the shotgun on the counter, he pulls out his mobile and dials Charley, terrified of what he’ll hear on the other end.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding when the call goes straight to voicemail. 

Cursing, he punches the phone buttons again, and does, almost absently, take a swig of his drink.

The phone rings this time, several times, and then he hears the trill of the phone from the other end, the sound echoing through the penthouse from the lift. 

Charley’s _here_. 

Peter grabs the gun again as Charley enters the room. He’s is carrying a large canvas bag, and even from across the room, Peter can see there’s blood smeared on the vampire’s mouth.

Peter’s heart stops. 

_Who did you kill?_ he wants to ask. Instead he forces himself to say, “Where have you been?” 

“I went out,” Charley states calmly. “I know I probably shouldn’t have without you. But you were asleep; you looked so peaceful. And I was hungry.”

“Charley, what did you _do_?”

Charley approaches him, slowly, maybe even cautiously, like the vampire doesn’t want to spook him. Peter is confused. Unsure if he should run, he clutches his gun tighter, but has yet to point it at Charley. Even now, it doesn’t feel right. Charley stops at arm’s length and holds out the bag. 

“Go on,” Charley prompts. 

Peter would have to let go of his gun to take the bag. He refuses with a shake of his head. Charley seems to get the idea, and sets the bag down on the floor in front of him, undoing the fastenings. 

Immediately several small animals scamper towards the opening. Peter stares in shock as he sees a couple very still ones that… don’t.

Peter lets out a slightly hysterical laugh. “ _Guinea pigs_?”

“I was hungry,” Charley repeats, shrugging. “And I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” 

“Seriously?” Peter asks, afraid to feel the relief that is threatening to crash through him. “You’re not…” Peter makes a claw gesture with one hand and growls a little.

Charley shrugs again. “I’m still me,” Charley says for the second time. And his smile, though tainted a bit by blood, looks human enough.

Peter sets the gun down.

 

* * *

 

Together they learn even more about vampires. Things the books disagree on or neglect to mention, rumors unfounded—things you can only really know first hand. Charley treats his vampirism as the ultimate research project… He IS the guinea pig. And short of exposing him to sunlight, together they test his limits.

They learn that a well-fed vampire is a relatively sane vampire. Evil isn't a given. A norm, maybe even a default with some species, but Charley's conscience is intact... As long as he doesn't get too hungry.

In trying to control that hunger, though, they quickly find out that animals are just a failsafe; Charley can’t last forever without human blood. But when they’re the supposed experts, and _they_ need more information before Peter will let him near a human for sustenance, they hunt down one of Charley’s maker’s tribe. The other vampire begrudgingly shows him the ropes. 

Turning, for example, isn’t automatic—the vampire explains the mechanism to Charley—though instinct will steer any feeding vampire in that direction. Procreation, it would seem, is primal, even to the undead.

And as for other primal urges… They learn soon that vampires definitely fuck. And often, and with great vigor. Vampires have heart beats, they certainly have blood flow. Peter just... doesn't swallow anymore. And condoms are, as always, a definite necessity.

They don't kill vampires anymore, either. Not really, anyway. They unilaterally stake their claim over this city. Peter's high profile, and the swift dispatching of any upstart vamp, seals it. No one hunts in Vegas apart from Charley. It keeps the body count down, keeps them safe.

And life returns to some semblance of normal. 

They can’t keep this game up forever, they both know, but it works. Days turn into weeks, weeks to months, and Charley never once tries to kill an innocent. It’s just as well Vegas, this city of sin Peter chose to make his home, is full to bursting with the worst kinds of humans. And so many whose disappearances would go unnoticed, or if noticed, not exactly cared about. No one mourns these victims. Charley is doing a community service, really.

Peter knows it’s bullshit. Charley is a murderer. Peter is guilty by association. But he can live with guilt. He’s done _that_ all his life. He can’t live without Charley. Not now. Charley _needs_ him.

It’s a year before Charley slips up. And it isn’t by killing an innocent. Because Peter is hardly that. A love bite, in the heat of passion, is all it takes for everything to change.

 

* * *

 

When Peter wakes, there is already a meaty thug tied up in the panic room down the hall. He can smell the guy's fear. It thrills him. It sickens him. But the _hunger_. Peter wants to _tear_ into… something. _Now_. How did Charley ever manage this as gracefully as he did?

Peter groans.

“Oh look who's awake,” Charley says cheerfully, and then kisses him, a hint of human blood on lips that don't feel that cold to Peter anymore.

Peter's head swims, as he pushes away his... maker. “I'll never forgive you for this, Charley.”

“Sure you will,” Charley says, smiling. “It just may take a while.”

FIN


End file.
